


Where fire burns out and ice melts

by Kru



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Developing Relationship, Feelings, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, M/M, Past Jon Snow/Ygritte, Post-Episode: s06e03 Oathbreaker, Post-Episode: s06e04 Book of the Stranger, Post-Episode: s06e08 No One, Post-Episode: s06e09 Battle of the Bastards, Reunions, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-03-08 18:47:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18900502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kru/pseuds/Kru
Summary: "For example, how Jon’s breath hitched when he licked him slowly to bit then hard and sudden. Or how he swore under his breath when Tormund’s hand crushed his muscles and spread him open. How he tangled his fingers in Tormund’s hair and pulled him down for another kiss when Tormund left him for too long. How Jon entangled in him, gridding against his skin, looking for more closeness, more friction, more of everything."————In other words, the ending that should happen.





	1. Part I: Tormund

**Author's Note:**

> Because for last couple of hours I've been going through all 5 stages of grief over and over again.  
> Because I just need more of them in my life and I hope you need them too.  
> Because this had been building in me for past few months or maybe even years?
> 
> After all, I think something big just ended. Something epic. And if I can hold it for a few more days, weeks or months with this story, I will do it and I will do it hard.
> 
> \---
> 
> So, I have this idea to write sort of episode codas for my beloved couple from GoT. It will be always Tormund's and/or Jon's perspectives and not particularly in this order, but maybe (probably) they will fix parts of last two seasons just a tiny, little bit ;)
> 
> I hope you'll like it!

It didn’t happen until Jon came back. Tormund knew from the first glance Jon gave him when he emerged from the dead that there was something new about him. Some kind of wildness maybe? A new edge perhaps?

Tormund suspected that running from the God of Death wasn’t cheap. He knew it must have left some kind of a mark on the one that had been doing the running. Jon had to give something to get his life back, but if he lost his stiffness and need of duty, then it wasn’t a big price to pay.

It wasn’t bad. Not for Tormund. It could’ve been if Jon had a new color to his eyes or no free will, but being a little wilder wasn’t bad. They needed this; they needed more edge if they were meant to fight what was promised to come from Beyond the Wall.

Still, when after hanging those fucking traitors, Jon stormed into Tormund’s chamber, pushed him against a wall and kissed him, Tormund was surprised. He was surprised how eager Jon was. How he craved closeness. How he chased Tormund’s lips, bite into them and pushed his tongue inside, grabbing Tormund by flaps of his coat like he meant never to let go or breath again.  

Tormund’s hands found their way on Jon’s body by reflex, bringing him even closer, holding Jon tighter and letting him deepen the kiss. Jon must have like it, breathing in frantically, clearly content, almost like Tormund gave him something he craved all his existence. And maybe he did. Maybe now Jon missed not only his rigorousness but also inhibition, some kind of hesitancy that had been leading him in his former life? Tormund didn’t complain, not when he had hands full of warm and willing body, but it also didn’t mean he was a user.

“Snow…” he started in between one urgent kiss and the other when Jon’s hands reached his pants’ drawstrings, yanking at them impatiently. “Jon,” he repeated firmer, stopping his hand with his own.

“What?” Jon moved, looking at Tormund with a hint of annoyance and a sudden shadow of fear. “Did I offend you?”

Tormund snorted at that, pushing Jon a little bit deeper into his chambers.

“I just wanted to make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into, boy,” he stated, picking up the undressing where Jon left it.

The other man’s eyes closely followed his movements as both of them moved back and stopped only when Jon’s calves hit furs.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Jon stated more than asked, but he was less sure now.

“Aye, but you need to know one thing,” Tormund said, slowly untying strings of his coat. “I do not fuck around.”

“And I don’t fuck at all.” Jon proposed with a faint smile.

“But you did before?”

“Not with men,” Jon said quietly, observing as slowly, inch after inch, Tormund’s body emerge from under layers of leather. Lines of muscles and soft, white skin covered in scarves and fainting bruises. A map of Tormund’s life.

“Little Virgin Crow,” Tormund said with a sudden smile, letting his coat fall on the floor followed by the rest of his clothes. He moved even closer to Jon, stepping out of the pile of his clothes and he made a gesture with his hand at his fully naked body. “Are you really able to face all that?”

“Don’t call me that,” was the only response he got. If Jon wanted to say anything more, it stopped at his half-opened lips as he breathed in slowly, bringing his hand up to touch Tormund.

First, only Jon’s fingertips ghosted over Tormund’s arms, brushed over his collarbone and delicately caught the longest strands of his beard. Then, his fingers pressed harder into the other man’s skin, tracing all those marks of Tormund’s past. He finally settled his hand on the man’s chest, letting it fall and move up with each of Tormund’s breath.

“Do you like it?” Tormund asked, hating that he cared for the answer more then he wanted to admit.

Jon looked surprised when he glanced up, but it only lasted for seconds before he said quietly, “Yes.”

“It’s different than a woman’s body.”

Jon smiled at that. He really smiled. That was another new thing about him. Before he never smiled. Never this open. Never so sincerely.

His hand moved again. His soft touch carried lower, brushing hard muscles on Tormund’s abdomen with some fascination or even intent.

“It is,” he finally answered quietly, flicking his gaze to catch Tormund’s.

“And you still want it?”

“Bloody seven hells, do you always talk this much before you take someone to bed?” Jon huffed out a soft laugh.

“Do you always do it with your clothes on?” Tormund deadpanned, looking obviously at Jon’s caftan. “Is this how you do it in the South?”

“I’m from the Nor-” Jon stared but before he was able to finish Tormund kissed him.

Now, Tormund was sure that Jon wanted it. At least now. And who was he to say no to that? He wanted it too. He wanted Jon. It wasn’t like he longed for him during sleepless nights because he never chased things he couldn’t have, but he cared for Jon. He really cared. Before, he cared more than he was able to admit. But now? After seeing Jon dead, knowing that he almost had to watch his body burn? Having him instead in his arms breathing? He felt this overwhelming lightness in his stomach. This strange feeling of fulfillment that settled deep inside his body.

And it must have shown because Jon smiled against him and let Tormund start to undress him as his lips followed every single spot of Tormund’s body that was at his reach. They traced all those places that Jon’s hands touched before, nipping at his shoulder to leave a hot and wet trace of kisses across Tormund’s chest while the man got rid of Jon’s caftan and went for the belts.

“Fucking Crows and your fucking clothes,” Tormund huffed out angrily when Jon’s pants finally fall.

“I’m not a Crow anymore,” Jon managed to say laughing when Tormund slipped his hand on Jon’s bare ass to bring him closer.

“Now we are talking,” he murmured with pure content, claiming Jon’s lips again in a hungry kiss.

He was the one touching now. He always tried to know the other body before he took it. It was like knowing the enemy before a fight. Its weak points. Its slits in the armor. For example, how Jon’s breath hitched when he licked him slowly to bit than hard and sudden. Or how he swore under his breath when Tormund’s hand crushed his muscles and spread him open. How he tangled his fingers in Tormund’s hair and pulled him down for another kiss when Tormund left him for too long. How Jon entangled in him, grinding against his skin, looking for more closeness, more friction, more of everything.

“I want to eat you,” Tormund whispered to Jon’s ear, biting softly heated earlobe. “I want to fucking devour you. All of you,” he added, trying to pull Jon’s shirt up when suddenly Jon froze.

He stopped Tormund’s hands not moving far but looking at him suddenly sober.

“Not this,” he said with a harsh voice. “Leave that on.”

“But I’ve seen you aft-” he started yet Jon only shook his head.

“ _I_ don’t want to see it,” he said firmly. “ _I_ don’t want to remember.”

For a moment, Tormund just looked at Jon. He just tried to understand his words, to respect his will, but it was nonsense. For Tormund, it was lying to yourself, and he knew Jon was better than that.

He moved his hands from Jon’s grip and slipped them under the rough fabric. His hands were probably rougher than that, his skin was not so silky as those Southerners kneelers, marked with war and work, but it seemed that Jon didn’t mind them. He might even like them because he shivered under Tormund’s touch. Maybe that was the reason Jon had chosen him for this. Perhaps he needed roughness and real person who went through the same hell as he did.

So, Tormund held him strongly and close to his body, like he didn’t mean to let him go. Not ever. His hands were flat and warm on Jon’s back, reassuring, soothing and staying under the fabric when he looked at Jon and said to him slowly, “I want to remember. I want to see every mark of a knife they left on you. Do you want to know why? Because they send you to the other side, and when you came back, you came back to me.”


	2. Part I: Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“For the love of Gods,” Jon whined as he gasped for air, involuntary arching on the bed to push further._   
>  _Maybe he woke up from the dead before, but it was now, in this very moment, when he felt fully alive again._   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all those kudos and lovely comments guys! I am probably repeating myself but they really keep me going, especially in times like this and when I am coming back to writing. 
> 
> And, I truly hope you'll like this part. It's far more smutty! Just please, have in mind I'm all for naturalism and being true to the given world of the characters.
> 
> You can also say "hi" to me over at my tumblr - https://leeeeeex.tumblr.com/

It was hard to think of an answer to words like those. For Jon, those words were big and somehow new even though in another life, in another time, another someone kissed by fire had a chance to claim him. Or maybe that was the point? Everything that happened before he died happened to someone else. He was someone else, someone who knew what he wanted. And he wanted Tormund. He wanted to feel him, to taste him to have him like this, close and naked, in his bed. For anything else, he was too broken, and he didn’t intend to give someone something that was this broken. Certainly not to someone that had been this important to him.

Because of that he only nodded, giving the other man silent permission but Tormund still didn’t take his shirt off. He just moved his hands to rest them on Jon’s hips and pushed him lightly back. Jon followed this order, setting on the furs. He looked at Tormund, trailing his every move carefully, partially curious and partially still afraid that he did something wrong or offending and Tormund would leave him alone and always wanting. But Tormund barley moved. He just watched Jon from above with a subtle smile. One of his hands rested on Jon’s arm while the other cupped his cheek, his thumb brushed his lips. And Jon couldn’t help. He had to lean into this touch, closing his eyes and savoring every sensation. The feeling of warm and rough palms on his skin, musky smell of Tormund’s fingers, strange and new jolt of arousal when the man pushed his thumb into his mouth and Jon could fell taste of his sweat.

“Just look at you,” Tormund whispered, and Jon opened his eyes surprised by the admiration he heard in Tormund’s voice as the continued, “I could fuck your mouth right now, and I know you would be so good to me… So damn good,” he added even quieter, but before Jon was able to react and agree on everything and more, the man fell to his knees and claimed Jon’s lips again.

From that point, there was no coming back. Jon knew that and he didn’t care of what that meant or what he just became because hot hands were holding his face, fingers tangling into his hair, eager tongue licking inside his lips, taking him deeper, biting into him harder. And he surrendered to this touch, to those fingers, and those lips. He surrendered to Tormund completely when the man pushed him back, shoved his shirt up and throw it somewhere behind.

Now his hands and lips took possession of Jon’s body. While still kissing him, Tormund firmly grabbed his legs, spreading them open so he could settle more comfortably between them still kneeling in front of the bed. Dragging fingers on Jon’s skin, he moved them up, holding Jon’s waist tightly in a firm grip, crushing him in the same rhythm his tongue fucked Jon’s mouth, biting into him deeper.

 _They would leave marks_ , Jon thought, _I would be able to feel this for days_ , he marveled and couldn’t help himself but cry out into other man’s lips, loud and obscene to his ears, but still to overwhelmed with pleasure to care if those sounds carried outside the room.

And for Tormund it must have been something of an invitation because he pulled Jon closer, and leaving his lips he started to taste his skin with kisses, careful to leave Jon’s torment skin untouched but hungry enough to cause another soft moan. Jon’s arms gave up, and he fell back into the furs, cursing under his breath. Tormund’s lips moved insanely low, and he could only feel and be the feeling of strong fingers bringing him closer to Tormund’s mouth, his beard skimming skin of his inner thighs, his teeth nipping, his tongue wet, his lips hot on Jon, taking him suddenly deep inside.

“For the love of Gods,” Jon whined as he gasped for air, involuntary arching on the bed to push further.

Maybe he woke up from the dead before, but it was now, in this very moment, when he felt again fully alive. Even in his former life, he didn’t know of pleasure like that or that another man was able to give it. Or was it like that because it was Tormund whom he trusted, whom he admired and want?

He felt now Tormund’s tongue going all the way up his length and then the man swallowed him up again, his cock hitting the back of Tormund’s throat over and over again while the man murmured incoherently with something that sounds like a delight. Each of those moves dragged from Jon instinctive response of his hips thrusting, of words escaping his lips, of thoughts running wild with all the possibilities.

Rising on his arms, he looked up, unable to hold himself from it anymore, and he got lost in the view. Tormund’s eyelids were closed when he took him, but he must have felt Jon’s gaze because he suddenly opened them, locking his eyes with Jon. Tormund’s blue stare pinned him with so much want, with so much need and so much rapture that Jon finally let go. With a groan coming deep from inside him, he came into Tormund’s lips, shaking and breathing hard. And then suddenly Tormund was moving above him, spreading him even more open to lay between his legs, to hold him thigh and close.

“My Little Crow,” Tormund whispered with his voice hoarse and kissed him hard.

Jon could taste himself on the other man’s lips. He felt every detail of the other heavy and sweaty body pressing him into the furs. Tormund’s stretched muscles, his warm skin, his rough hands and his cock throbbing against his leg, his precum smearing wet on his thighs, his spend member pressed between them. And yet the only thing he could think of was how much more he wanted.

“I’m not done with you,” Tormund said like he could read his mind. Jon couldn’t help but laugh at that. He reached to capture Tormund’s face in his hands and stretched for his lips again.

“I would like that,” he started, and then he added less confident. “But I don’t know what else can we do here.”

Tormund snorted at that, shaking his head as he glanced at Jon with something that was a mix of pity and amusement.

“You Southerners don’t know much,” he added and moved his free hand slowly along the whole side of Jon’s body up to his thighs.

“Show me then,” Jon asked surly, and Tormund sharply looked back at him, clearly surprised.

He appeared almost wild now. His hair was a mess, glistering around his head like an aura of flames. His skin shone in the glow of a fireplace, stretching on broad shoulders, milky and somehow delicate to the touch. He looked back at Jon with his so blue eyes that felt like they could burn a hole inside him. The tight feeling in his chest was something of a proof of that.

“Someday I will open you slowly,” Tormund finally said, holding Jon’s gaze as he moved above him, trusting his hips to rub off on Jon’s skin. “I will work you out with my fingers and tongue, bit by bit, so you will beg me to fuck you,” he added and moved again, his leaking and red cock hit into Jon’s abdomen. “But now… Now I want to mark you mine.”

Tormund’s other hand, the one that wasn’t holding him up was still on Jon’s body, crushing his skin in between his fingers. He dug his fingers into the muscles of Jon’s buttocks to get even more friction and to pull him up. But Jon moved on reflex now, he arched below and met Tormund’s body midway. He was led by instinct more than his mind. He just wanted to give Tormund something, anything, so he reached down, wrapped his hand on the other’s man length and shifted it smoothly together with every contradicting trust, dragging from Tormund’s lungs a low growl of pleasure.

And it was so strange to feel another body like that, to feel its hotness and wetness, to feel similar shape to his own and yet belonging to someone else. But at the same time, it was good. He knew it must have been right because there was nothing more beautiful than to see Tormund like that, falling apart piece by piece, in between his hands, thanks to his body and with Jon’s name on his lips.

“Like that,” Tormund grunted, burying his face in the crook of Jon’s neck as he started to trust frantically into his fist. “Just like that Little Crow,” he cried out louder and there he was, shaking from sudden release in between their bodies.


	3. Part I: Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He settled more comfortably on a side, between Tormund’s arms, looking back at the man that observed him with curiosity or maybe even surprise. One of Tormund’s hands started to run up and down his spine, Tormund's fingertips pressing lightly into his skin when he reached the end of Jon's back._   
>  _“I wouldn’t be able to do what I did to you if I haven’t,” he said finally. “But it was a long time ago before my wife claimed me.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again thank you so much for all the support. You are amazing, and I could never imagine that this fic is going to be received so well, especially that I started to write it for a very selfish reason - to make everything better in my head and heart. And now I am just overwhelmed with happiness that you like it too.
> 
> Of course, at some point in all my stories feelings strike back in full force, so here it is, a very emotional chapter (well, at least in my opinion :D) Oh and I think in the next one, I will play a little bit with Sansa. I always wanted to put my fingers on her - in completely not Bolton's way but because she is my precious Northern queen! 
> 
> Just a side not, this is still a fix-it fic but mostly you will see smaller, subtle changes that still (I hope) will result in my own version of a very happy ending ;)

He was drifting on a surface of his subconscious for a long time before he finally woke up and even then he still felt like in another land and time, somewhere far away from the shitty one they had been living in. The fireplace was dying down, giving only weak light and almost no heat. It seemed like it was before sunrise. The snow probably had been still falling densely, covering windows and dimming the luminosity of the outside. Somehow it also softened noises of Castle Black coming back to life, the scrape of boots on the ground, chatter of voices or hum of the livestock. Everything seemed to be far away, and they seemed to be forgotten.

Suddenly Jon thought he was able to give his life a dozen times over to stop this moment forever. He laid under warm furs, covered in the even warmer body. Tormund’s arm held him close even if the man was still sleeping.  Each of his soft breaths caressed Jon’s neck like a proof of everything that happened between them. And if that wasn’t enough, he had his fatigued muscles or burses in the shape of Tormund’s fingers on his tights and pattern of hickeys on his chest as evidence of their previous night.

He was tired, but it was a different type of exhaustion. It wasn’t in his mind. His mind was clear, free of worry, and he could swear it was the first good night of sleep he had ever had. For sure he didn’t sleep like that before he died, or before he became a part of the Night Watch, or even not in Winterfell when he laid in bed alone and had only four cold walls as his companions. And Jon knew that what was happening to him right now wasn’t love. At least not now. No. It was something else. It was something he still didn’t know how to call, but it felt like it was far stronger than any feeling he had ever shared with another person. Even with Ygritte.

Gods, Ygritte seemed like she also lived in another world. For sure, she belonged to another lifetime, his other life. What he had with her was the closest thing to love he ever felt, and yet it was not enough to stop him from doing all those stupid things. It didn’t stop him from betraying her even if they said the words and even if he wanted to believe it was enough for him. It wasn’t. He killed her. Maybe it was Olly who shot her, but Jon was the arrow. He killed her for his brothers, and then they killed him.

Now it was different. Now Jon knew that what he did during this night was for him, it belongs to him and Tormund, and no one was able to take this away. This time he wouldn’t let it go. This time he was ready to betray everything but this.

He shifted on the bed, slowly turning to face Tormund. For a moment Jon thought he might wake him up when the man stirred, pushed his leg further between Jon’s tights and brought him even closer against his chest, but then he visibly relaxed and his limbs got slack. Jon smiled at that and settled into the warmth of the other body again. He could see every single freckle on Tormund’s face, the way they intensified around his nose and temple, on all those spots that were kissed by the sun during the day.

Jon brought his hand up and touched them very softly, only with his fingertips. Last night he didn’t have time to do things like that. Last night he learned about pleasure without measure and how to give it back. He still felt it in his body, in his muscles, in the way a heat rose low in his stomach when he remembered of all those things they did, how Tormund took him, how Jon gave him everything he had. Gods, he was insatiable, ridding Tormund like that… Was it because he died a few days ago or maybe he was like that all along?

He didn’t know men laid together in this way. Sometimes he heard about brothers helping each other to find release in between their hands and mouths, but he had never thought it might be like that or feel so good. When he came to Tormund yesterday, he just knew he wanted to be with him and finally let himself to have all those things he dreamed about when he laid alone in the night, his skin feeling too tight and his heart too big to fit inside his chest. He didn’t even know when Ygritte face was replaced with Tormund’s when during those nights, he touched himself and cried out the man’s name into the darkness. The only thing he knew was that Tormund was fearless, wild and beautiful, and he accepted him, Jon Snow, the bastard, the Crow, the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, and he didn’t want anything in return.

He suspected all those southern lords would condemn him seeing him like that. In another man’s bed. In another man’s arms. Sleeping with a Wildling. But Jon didn’t care. They didn’t win a fight with the God of Death. They didn’t see the things he saw. He knew all of their lives were already counted, and he only wanted to make the most of the time that have left for them.

“You think again,” Tormund said suddenly, startling Jon who still had his fingers on his lips. The man didn’t open his eyes, but he added disapprovingly, “It’s loud.”

“I’m not,” Jon started a little offended but then Tormund cracked one eye open to look at him suggestively, and Jon couldn’t stand up to that. “All right, I was thinking. I should get back to my chamber before everyone wakes up.”

Tormund only growled something under his breath, closing his eyes again when he said quietly, “I didn’t fuck you properly. Otherwise, you’d have been thinking only how sore your ass is right now.”

Jon huffed out a short laugh, stretching only a few inches to catch Tormund’s lips in a soft kiss. It lasted seconds, but Tormund murmured into his mouth with content this time, closing his arms around Jon’s waist even tighter.

“My people don’t care, I have my daughters to carry my blood,” he said, finally continuing Jon’s previous thought as he looked at him fully awake now. “Even so, men or women, it doesn’t matter to us, especially if they are as pretty as you.”

“Have you been with a man before?” Jon said aloud one of the thoughts that had circulated in his head for a longer time then he would like to admit.

He settled more comfortably on a side, between Tormund’s arms, looking back at the man that observed him with curiosity or maybe even surprise. One of Tormund’s hands started to run up and down his spine, Tormund's fingertips pressing lightly into his skin when he reached the end of Jon's back.

“I wouldn’t be able to do what I did to you if I haven’t,” he said finally. “But it was a long time ago before my wife claimed me.”

“Tormund Giantsbane conquered by a woman,” Jon said with a smile. “That’s hard to imagine.”

“Because you’ve never met her,” the man laughed out loud and started to explain, “She was Karsi’s sister, that one you’ve met at Hardhome, so you can imagine a magnificent woman as tall as me, able to fight like four men. When she wanted something, she did everything to have it, and she wanted me.”

“Do you miss her?” Jon asked another nagging question this time without a smile, waiting for an answer very still even though he didn’t know why it was so important to him.

The man seemed to understand more than he let Jon to see because Tormund’s gaze never left his eyes, and his hand never stopped stroking his skin, when he whispered, “Sometimes when I look at my daughters, and I know that one day I might not be enough to protect them. But you didn’t want to ask me _that_ ,” he noted, stressing the last word and assumed bluntly, “You want to know if I loved her.”

Jon almost stirred, uncertain to say anything for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was weak.

“Did you?”

“No, there was no love between us.” Tormund said calmly and rushed to add, “There was respect, admiration even, but not love. Do you understand?”

Jon only nodded feeling that a big lump formed in his throat, making him unable to breathe. In this very moment, he could say everything. He could tell that he will promise to protect Tormund’s daughters no matter what cost. He could say that he will belong to him. He could swear he will stay by Tormund’s side and by his people, but before he was able to form any reasonable response, Tormund spoke first.

“Why me, Jon Snow?” He asked suddenly, and his hand stopped at Jon’s back when he added. “You could have anyone, so why me?”

“I trust you,” Jon answered before the question faded in the air, without even second of hesitation.

“And you like me?” Tormund proposed, smiling when Jon nodded with agreement. Tormund’s hand began to move again, tracing some irregular patterns on Jon’s skin like he would also weight some words before he asked, “Did you like a lot of men before me?”

“No,” Jon said carefully and paused for a moment thinking how he can explain something that was already so forgotten it seemed that happened to another person, “Well, there was Robb, my half-brother, but he’s long gone by now, and the feeling was similar only in parts.”

“Good,” Tormund said with an almost triumphant grin and swiftly rolled them over using some deceitful move.

Jon was under him again. The man settled in between his thighs, visibly ready. Jon felt proof of that trembling in between their bodies. And he couldn’t protest. He was in a similar state, rocking his hips against Tormund’s on reflex, like his mind and body already aligned with the other’s man desires. It was at the same moment when they heard a loud sound of a horn, making them suddenly stop and listen with fear.


	4. Part I: Tormund

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Ride South with me and join our camp,” he proposed, leaning in closer to add softly, “You gave those bastards one life, so spend this one with me.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how in GoT characters make plans and then shit happens? Well, this chapter is a little bit like that, only it kind of is more  
> like a one big cockblock :D Also, it's only me or Tormund become a master of romantic one-liners?
> 
> _________
> 
> Thank you so much for all kudos and comments! I have no words to express how happy this makes me!

“One blow,” Tormund noticed first, pushing on his hands to kneel on the bed and pull Jon up.

“Seven Hells,” Jon grumbled under his breath, clearly irritated, struggling to go out of tousled furs.

When he finally freed himself, he started to look for his clothes scattered everywhere on the floor, entangled with Tormund’s and overall long forgotten. Jon found his shirt first and threw it on, going around the chamber with a bare ass and his prick all soft again. He was picking one piece of fabric after another, only to discover with obvious disappointment that those still weren’t his pants.

“Who even arrives here at such an early hour,” he commented, crouching in front of the bed to reach for a piece of garment underneath.

Tormund didn’t say a word to that or remark on Jon’s rush or even his frantic and panicked movements. He stood up calm and walked to a pitcher with water, carefully purring it all to a bowl. He sank a piece of cloth in it with intent, feeling freezing water on his hands that somehow helped him to wake up a little bit more. He had never been a morning person, and if he ever were to be a lord, waking up at the afternoon would have been his first and foremost command.

“Why are you not dressing?” Jon stopped half move, untangling his pants from the belt.

“Come here,” Tormund only said at that, gesturing at Jon with his head. He squeezed the cloth one more time and hooking his free hand around Jon’s waist he brought him closer. “Whoever it is, you can’t greet him smelling like you’ve been fucking all night,” he added and reaching Jon’s back he started to run it through his buttocks, slow and careful.

He moved the cloth up front, now taking maybe not that necessary but deliberate strokes of Jon’s cock, when the man whispered, “Maybe I want to?”

Tormund smiled at that. Yes, he liked Jon’s newly formed recklessness, the one that made him beg for more and the one that Tormund couldn’t resist, taking Jon even when he didn’t plan to go that far last night. And boy, how Jon took it. With little prep and only Tormund’s saliva as help, he rode him like a madman. He liked that Jon finally wasn’t afraid to want, but still, Tormund cared too much for him to let him be killed again. This time for bedding a Wildling man.

“You know you don’t have to be here anymore?” Tormund asked, moving the cloth up to wash what was left from their night on Jon’s stomach.

Jon looked up at him taken-aback, clearly not realizing this up till now. Maybe because of that Tormund dare to say next words.

“Ride South with me and join our camp,” he proposed, leaning in closer to add softly, “You gave those bastards one life, so spend this one with me.”

And Jon smiled at that, his face brightened. He reached for Tormund’s lips, claiming them hard. He didn’t hold back. Tormund felt it when Jon just clung to him, pull by this beard and tangled fingers in his hair to drag him closer and deepen the kiss. It was then when they heard stronger voices from the outside. The gate had been opened.

Jon stopped but staying still near he answered, “Aye, I’ll go with you.” He smiled gentle and happy, and added surly, “I’ll see to this last time, and I’ll go.”

Tormund hummed agreement, letting Jon free. He cleaned himself too, watching as the other man hurryingly pulls his pants and slips his shoes on. After a moment, Tormund was already fully dressed when Jon only managed to tie his padded underlayers.

“Leave those and go,” he proposed. “I’ll follow you shortly.”

Jon nodded and rushed outside, leaving behind a better part of his black leather layers. Tormund supposed he wouldn’t need them anymore so without much of thinking he gather everything and throw the damn Crow cloths into the fireplace. The fire caught on quickly, all of sudden alive again, melting Jon’s old skin. After all, Jon was brought back by the God of Light, so it was just right that his former life would be burned out entirely too.

With that thought, Tormund marched outside. Coming through the corridor that led to the central yard he passed a few Crows who couldn’t hold their fear or distrust, or both, moving from his way almost like they wanted to become one with the walls. The only other Crow that respected him was Edd. He greet him at the entrance. Still, when he passed him, Edd threw a strange look and only then Tormund saw it. Jon was in a firm embrace with a woman, tall and redheaded, but when he finally put her down it was clear she was a girl, a young one, older than his daughter by just a few years perhaps. And she looked worn out. Her Southern clothes were thin, her face dirty and so scraggy he didn’t know how she was still alive.

He looked swiftly at Edd, but the other man only shrugged. He didn’t know her too and judging from the look on Davos face the girl was as unfamiliar to him as to Tormund.

“How did you come here?” he heard Jon saying, and if not the embrace, his voice, how it trembled, was proof enough that they knew and cared for each other for a long time.

“Lady Sansa,” another voiced reached him, and Tormund tore his eyes from them looking behind the girl’s back. And there she was, a tall woman, taller than him, her eyes were so bright they could almost pierce, the light hair ruffled from the wind and snow were making her look wild. For a moment, the feeling of familiarity took his breath away. His thoughts rushed to all possibilities. But it was all a mirage. He knew that. His wife was gone, took away by fever after his second daughter was born. She was now all dust, burned by him and spread by wind. This one was only a reminiscence or maybe a mockery of some damn Gods, dressed like a Southerner in the most excellent armor, looking at him with disdain when he came closer to Jon.

“Brianne brought me here,” the girl said finally, throwing at Tormund suspicious glance. “And Theon helped me escape,” she added quieter and looked back at Jon with profoundly constrain sadness behind her bright eyes.

For a moment Jon seemed to be startled or even maybe enraged. The feeling past quickly through his face and probably was only visible for those who knew him. For Tormund, it was clear that something was hidden behind the girl’s statement, and it moved Jon to the point he couldn’t find words, so Tormund interrupted.

“Little Crow?” He asked, being unable to hold back worry that sneaked into his voice. He put a hand on Jon’s back and added, “You’re alright?”

The man stirred under his touch and looked swiftly at Tormund, nodding with assurance.

“That’s Lady Sansa Stark,” he answered. “Daughter of Eddard Stark, who was my father,” he added, stressing last words.

The girl glanced from Jon to Tormund, but even if she was confused, she still gave him a little bow.

“No need for courtesy, girl,” he let himself to joke. “It’s enough your brother kneeled for me.”

Jon gave him a side look, warning him silently but before he explained to her what that meant the tall woman spoke.

“Lord Commander, I’m sorry to interrupt,” she started calmly and yet Tormund hard weariness in her smooth voice as she continued, “The road was hard and long. We would be in your depth if you could give us a place to rest for a few days.”

“Of course,” Jon let words with a long breath. “We’ll talk inside,” he added and gave Tormund another look, this time full of apology.


	5. Part I: Tormund

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jon must have felt his gaze on him because he finally looked up, and there was real fear in his eyes. He let Tormund see it. He let him see everything, every raw feeling, all his haplessness, panic, and frustration. And he also knew that at this very moment Jon belonged to him. And he knew Jon might never say it, but it was as true and as real as blood running through their veins._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo if D&D can bend time to their will so I can do it too. And I am still better at it :P Seriously, I watch this episode endlessly to figure out how the time passes in it (and no, it wasn't particlary hard task :D) and then I decide I'll go with the way how I feel it. 
> 
> Also this chapter is like an end to first part. In the next plan we start to _really_ have fun :D
> 
> Oh, and it might be a little bit angsty? Just tiny bit.
> 
> P.S. Sorry to post a bit later but I came back to work so I have less time to write. Still, I wanted to post it before I will travel for next few days. I really hope you are going to like it!

He didn't fallow the group so Jon could take care of the situation by himself. Tormund didn't do it because he didn't care. He did. In some unspoken way, he knew that Jon needed him now more than ever. Because in Tormund's eyes, Jon was still a bit naïve. He wasn't stupid like some thought. No, for sure he wasn't stupid. Jon was soft and carrying. He felt responsible for people that didn't appreciate it enough or even hated him for it. And he was like that before he died and despite it. He was like that before people betrayed him and despite them.

For Tormund, it wasn't a wrong way of being. Overall, nothing was bad if not exaggerated. And in the same way as Jon's new recklessness, his old softness was something that made Jon who he was now. Tormund admired him for it. Not many people could take pride in caring. Also, many people didn't feel responsible enough, and maybe that was the reason this world didn't work properly. Still, if Jon meant to survive in it with all of his new recklessness and old softness, he needed someone like Tormund by his side. 

So no, he didn't leave him behind. Tormund wanted to give him space. He felt that with the sudden appearance of a lost family member Jon would have enough trouble as it was, without Tormund lurking at the corners of his eyes. He was more useful to Jon this way, having some time to get to know newcomers. Because maybe he wasn't a born leader, he wasn't Mance Rayder, a cunny and clever man, but he had lived long enough to know information about everything, and everyone was the most valuable possession.

By the time Jon asked him to join them for supper, Tormund already knew things, he had listened to whispers, and he observed. He started with the big woman. It was difficult at the beginning and maybe a little bit hurtful. The resemblance to his late wife carried beyond the looks. There was something in the way she moved and spoke, which made her almost an exact copy. In some ways it was tariffing, and in another, soothing because it might mean that his wife wasn't wasted. She just found another home and another body. And maybe also in another life, he would try to connect with her not because he needed her but because his daughters missed a mother. But then this wasn't another of his lives. It was his old one where she was only a memory, and he already belonging to someone else. Still, from what he was able to gather about the big woman, he suspected that she was strongminded and stubborn. He saw this in the way she walked and in the way she talked with Davos and the Red Witch. She probably always did what she thought was right, but she wasn't afraid to kill. And she took more than a few lives. She was protective not only of Jon's sister but also of the little fella that came with them although she didn't have much of love in her life because she was afraid or unable to show it more gently. And the little guy that came with her? What was his name? Pod? This one was a tough nut to crack. He looked like a polite and smooth summer boy at first, but when Tormund looked at him for longer, there was some mischief hidden in his eyes mixed with tenderness and courage.

And there was Sansa herself, one of Jon's famous sister, owner of Stark name. He heard that she killed the boy king. He heard that she was sold not long after that to another. Tormund sat across the table from her and tried to see a murderer in her. She had courage. He saw it in the way her voice didn't tip when she read about all those horrible things her husband planned to do with her. She was proud. He saw it in a way she stubbornly demanded Jon to start a new war for her. And she was kissed by fire. He exactly knew what that meant. It meant she was an unbroken and unstoppable force that could move and bend many to her will. Was she a murderer? No. Not yet at least. But she also wasn't innocent anymore. She might wear the face of a child, but she saw too much to remain one. And that made her dangerous. That also made her admirable.

Tormund gave her another look, and she caught it. For a few moments, she held it, then quickly glanced at Jon. The man had beardly touched his food since they got the letter, staring at the plate like he wanted to find an answer in bread crumbs.

"You should rest," he said finally. "We'll stay at Castle Black a few days so you can regain your stren-"

"I feel alright," Sansa interrupted him. "There is no time to waste. We need to act if we want to help Rickon."

 Tormund saw as Jon's hands hidden under the tabled trembled. He tightened them on the bench to the point his knuckles whitened. He was angry, and he tried to hide it. Jon's jaw bones played under his skin when he clung his teeth and tried to find a response to her demands.

"Sansa, we need a solid plan," he started surprisingly softly. "I won't send Free Folk for certain death. And they still need to decide if they help us."

"I don't understand. Aren't you their leader?" Sansa asked Tormund directly, showing not even a single trace of fear.

The rest of the group looked at him swiftly. Edd hid a smirk, the fucker, while Brienne glanced with a mix of curiosity and wary.

"Free Folk follows the strength," Tormund answered, holding her unflinching gaze. "We fight to lead, but those days we lost too many so now the elders from each clan decide about our faith. We are fairer than you, kneelers. You follow orders of one lord or king that's young and stupid and cruel only because he is a son of a lord or a king before him."

She nodded as a sign of understanding and smiled suddenly, saying, "Maybe we should acquire your costumes then?"

"Aye, maybe you should," he smiled back and added to Jon, "I'll send a few of my people to the main camp, so they'll start to gather others. It'll take at least a fortnight. We can meet them there."

"During this time we can figure out who can support us from the North," Jon agreed with him and turned to Edd. "I'm not your commander anymore, but can I ask you to keep us all here for some time? Can you give them private places to sleep and provide whatever they need?"

"O-of course," Edd stumbled surprised and still not accustomed to the title. "I can see to that now if you follow me, ladies."

"I'm not a lady," suddenly Brienne interrupted and said to Jon. "If you don't mind my lord, I would prefer to keep Lady Sansa's side all the time. The best would be to find connecting chambers."

"And I'm not a lord," Jon forced a smile. "But it's shouldn't be a problem. You can use my recent quarters."

"Where will you go?" Edd asked, surprised.

"I'll be alright," Jon assured him and stood up as Sansa moved from her spot. "Let me know if you need anything," he reminded her, before they all left the dining chamber, leaving Tormund and Jon alone.

He sat down heavily and hid his face in hands. His breath came up shuttered as he exhaled hard. For a moment Jon just stayed like that, probably trying to calm down, but when he ran his hands through his face and hair, Tormund saw how they still trembled. He sat unmoved for a long moment with his head down, his elbows on the table and his fingers tangled in the mess of his curly hair that now ran free from the knot. And Tormund knew that he shouldn't touch him or say anything now. Again, he wasn't abandoning him. He was giving Jon his own space for his own decisions and his own mistakes. Because he knew one thing, he knew that he was going to accept those decisions and forgive mistakes. He knew, in this very moment, that he belonged to this man. Against all odds, against their history, against whatever their future planned for them. He knew that he was going to stay by Jon's side. Always. Till his last breath.

Jon must feel his gaze on him because he finally looked up, and there was real fear in his eyes. He let Tormund see it. He let him see everything, every raw feeling, all his haplessness, panic, and frustration. And he also knew that at this very moment Jon belonged to him. And he knew Jon might never say it, but it was as true and as real as blood running through their veins.

"We came a long way, boy," Tormund finally said and saw a shadow of a smile on Jon's lips, but it still didn't reflect in his eyes.

"Aye, we did," Jon confirmed and turned to fully face Tormund, seating astride on the bench. "Didn't we?"

Tormund only nodded and reached for a pitcher, pouring them both a solid pint. He gave one cup to Jon and hit it against his.

"What are we drinking to?" Jon asked before he took a sip.

"We drink to a promise,” Tormund explained and emptied his with one go and putting it hard on the table. “We're going to war. Together. Side by side," he added carefully, looking at Jon with his full attention aas he moved closer to him and added, "And after this war, after we live, after you get your sister's home back, you'll promise me here and now to come back with me to the North. To the real North."

Without a word Jon drunk from the cup to the last drop, his eyes never leaving Tormund’s.

"I promise," he said firmly.

"Good," Tormund whispered and reached for Jon's face to take it in both of his hands. "And now I will fuck out of your head all these stupid ideas you had a few moments ago," he added to finally see a real smile spreading on Jon's lips before he kissed him.


	6. Part II: Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Please,” Jon groaned, begging. He would never beg anyone else; he would never beg for anything, but here he was, shivering under strong hands, moaning pleads without shame and hesitancy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for you kind comments and kudos. In times like this, they really are a like air that helps me to breath and create :*
> 
> I am sorry it took a little bit more time to post, but I had to go back to work with full speed... However, I promise to post at least once a week, probably around weekends, so I have a week to work on the story.
> 
> For some of you this chapter might feel like a repetition, well... It kind of is and kind of isn't. I would really, really like to build up their relation, fill in all the missing scenes from the series that are in my head instead. And you need to trust me, there is a climax, I just want to give you all the flavours and also show how they develop. Hope you will like it!

Tormund’s steady, slow thrusts pushed him on the bed. Jon’s breath was heavy, shallow, as he braced himself on the furs to meet each of those thrusts. One of big, warm hands spread on his back to press him lower, the other held his hip tight to keep him in place, to prolong the pleasure, to control it. But it was all not enough. Jon wanted more. He needed to feel Tormund deeper. He tried to sink in the heat of their bodies and in the sensation that grew somewhere inside him. He wanted to feel just that, nothing more. And get out of his head because in his head was only anger, and fear, and loneliness.

He didn’t see Tormund for weeks. For bloody weeks! During this time they had been riding form castle to castle, trying to convince this and that lord to their cause, and it was all close to nothing. They still didn’t have enough men. He knew they would never have. Not when the lords and ladies of the North have seen him as a Wildling lover. It was almost funny how close to the truth they were, and yet they knew nothing. Because how could he not love these people? How could he not love Tormund? They were the only ones risking for them all they had, and it wasn’t even their war. And now they might lose it because of all prejudice and pride. And those next two nights might as well be his last. Tomorrow they were going to meet Ramsay, and the day after that they all might die.

“Hey,” he heard suddenly close. Tormund’s beard tickled his skin behind his ear when the man stretched further and reached his ear with his chipped lips to whisper, “Come back to me.”

Tormund wasn’t moving, but he was still deep inside Jon. One of his arms now wrapped around Jon’s waist squeezed him thither when Tormund rooted into him even further, making the sensation float to the brink of pain and pleasure. Jon couldn’t hold a long moan escaping his lips. He was back again, out of his head, in Tormund arms.

“Are you with me?” he heard a question hummed straight into his ear, sending a shiver down his spine.

Jon only nodded to that, arching into this sensation under Tormund’s body, thrusting back to urge the other man to go faster but it didn’t help. It never helped. Jon knew by know that Tormund was a patient lover. Sometimes he tortured him like that for hours. He moved slowly, precisely, like every thrust was perfectly planned to tear Jon apart, piece by piece, just like now. They were still delicate, measured. Tormund’s hips made circular motions gently rocking Jon’s body in some kind of meditating peace, dragging him almost at the edge of insanity.

“Please,” Jon groaned, begging. He would never beg anyone else; he would never beg for anything, but here he was, shivering under strong hands, moaning pleads without shame and hesitancy.

“What do you want Little Crow?” Tormund asked, straightening up. Now he took Jon’s hips in both of his hands, suddenly pushing hard. “This?”

“Yes,” Jon cried out the answer feeling all the pleasure going down his body like thunder. “More,” he managed to add before the next strong thrust filled his body.

“Only because you asked so pretty,” Tormund whispered with a well-heard smile in his voice and moved hard again but still not enough.

“Seven hells,” Jon growled under his breath, “Sometimes, I just don’t know if I want to strangle you or-” he started, but then Tormund suddenly hit him even harder, and at the same moment one of his hands moved on his sweaty back and tangled in his hair to pull his head up.

Tormund hovered over him again, stretching up to his lips, claiming them in a hungry kiss. He started to thrust deeper. The rhythm was steady but so much faster, finally making Jon forget the world around them. At this very moment, there was only Tormund inside Jon’s body. His tongue inside his lips, biting into him with the same beat Tormund’s body had been claiming him. There was only the pleasure, the feeling of completeness, the feeling of being like one body, tighten together but something so substantial it made Jon unable to exist outside of it. And then suddenly he was coming back with Tormund’s name on his lips, breathing the same air, still close to each other, Tormund’s fingers still tangled firmly in the mess of Jon’s hair. And Tormund wasn’t far behind. A couple of deep thrusts, a couple of sweet words whispered into Jon’s ear, and he was coming inside him, filling him in, defining him.

They collapsed on the furs. Tormund covered Jon’s body compactly, still staying inside him. He held him close in his arms, hiding his face in the crook of Jon’s neck, inhaling deeply with a content murmur. For a long moment, their breaths were the only sound. Apart from that, the tent had been loaded with tranquility, this strange kind of electrified air that happened after an extreme noise.

“Some might think you missed me, boy,” Tormund broke the silence, humming into his ear. “The way you just screamed my name for the whole camp to hear.”

Jon smiled, moving his hips to get closer to Tormund. The man slipped out of him, but Jon felt he wasn’t soft or maybe he was getting harder again.

“It seems you missed me too,” he spoke out aloud his thoughts and turned in Tormund’s arms to face him. “And I’m not that loud.”

“You’re the loudest I have ever had,” Tormund said with a sly smile, settling between Jon’s tights. “I like that, but I don’t know what your lords think about it.”

“They are on the other end of the camp,” Jon noticed. “And I bet you chose this location for this particular purpose.”

Tormund laughed aloud, “Aye, you have me there.”

Jon smiled easily. When he was with Tormund like that everything seemed to be easy and everything seemed to be far, unable to reach them. It was only this place, the quiet tent filled with a noise of the crackling fire. He could stay here forever.

Suddenly he remembered another quiet place filled with the aroma of burned wood and the scent of satisfied bodies. A cave at the far end of the world. A place where for the first time in his life he felt that he belonged to someone and this someone belonged to him. A place he should never leave.

“You’re doing it again,” Tormund noted, but there was neither anger nor disappointment in his voice, just concern.

“I’m sorry,” Jon said with a hint of a smile, trying to overcome his thoughts. “I keep getting ahead to tomorrow, and the day after… I keep thinking-” he started, but Tormund stopped him with a kiss.

He let Jon to take the lead of it and to be pushed back. Now it was Jon who tangled himself in Tormund’s body. He stretched along the man’s side, thrusting a leg in between Tormund’s thighs to settle himself comfortably. A strong arm wrapped around Jon’s waist to bring him even closer as he deepened the kiss, claiming Tormund’s lips.

“Remember that, Jon Snow,” Tormund whispered between one and the other hungry bite, “Remember every kiss, every touch and live for them. Live for another moment like that and then another,” he added, cupping Jon’s face in one of his hands when Jon stopped. He held his gaze, saying firmly. “The only way we will survive this is if you believe me that there is another day after all this.”

Jon closed his eyes. He almost felt the pain of his thoughts right now. And as always Tormund was right like he knew precisely what Jon had been thinking all this time.

“How I can do it?” he said, still unable to look at the other man. “The odds are against us.”

“Fuck odds,” Tormund snorted softly. “Fuck fate, fuck Gods, because if it were up to them, all of this, you and me, would never happen,” he continued, brushing Jon’s lip with his thumb in the rhythm of his next words. “But we did happen. You came to me because you wanted to, and I took you because I wanted to, so now, I want you to live. Do you understand me? I command you to live.”

Jon opened his eyes, hearing that. His chest suddenly filled with so many fillings he still didn’t understand that he could barely breathe. Maybe because of that, he only slowly nodded. For Tormund he was ready to do everything, he knew that. For Tormund, he was prepared to die and come back again.

“Now,” Tormund said with a content smile, “I want to make good use of that mouth of yours before I have to give you back to your lords and ladies.”

Jon huffed out a laugh, looking unimpressed as he hovered over Tormund to whisper into his ear, “Maybe I’ll make use of yours,” and then bit into the man’s lips again.


	7. Part II: Tormund

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She smiled, looking at him shortly before she said, “Your daughters. I saw how they greeted him when we reached your camp. They adore him, and I think it’s mutual.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for a delay. I still travel every weekend and this time I forgot my laptop charger ;___; But I will be better, I promise!
> 
> With his chapter I want to make you Monday a little bit better ;)

He couldn’t sleep. He tried to wrap himself in Jon, in his scent, in his warmth, but for some reason, it didn’t help. It just made it worst. And it was almost funny how Jon was fast asleep next to him after Tormund fucked Jon again that night. Jon seemed to get out of his head finally, but it felt like he also gave a fair share of his thoughts to Tormund. Now those gloomy fuckers were making themselves too comfortable in his head. And it wasn’t like he didn’t worry before. He did. But he wasn’t scared. Not until now.

He laid at his back, looking at precisely nothing. He heard only distant sounds of the camp that was mostly asleep.  A warm body had been pressing to his side. In its heat hid a promise of another good fuck in the morning, but he couldn’t stop to think that all this might end soon. Too soon.

Once he started to think about it, he couldn’t stop. He felt weak because of that. Before he was never weak, he knew he had to carry on, no matter what for his daughters and party also for his people. But now, he was afraid. He was scared that he would lose Jon, that the man would do something stupid, something that Tormund wasn’t able to influence.

And it was so comfortable to slip into the thought that Jon was his, that they had something, that they had a future together. It was damn easy. It was also terrifying. He knew that he already gave his heart entirely and that maybe in a couple of hours, he might lose it completely. And this time he didn’t know if he was strong enough to survive it.

He huffed out a long breath, giving up. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He needed ale. A lot of it. Or another fuck. He didn’t want to wake Jon up. Gods only knew that the man needed sleep. He would have to do with the former.

He untangled himself from covers, carefully going out of the bed as to not disturb the other man. Quickly, putting on only the upper layer of his furs, he got out into the frosty air. For a moment, it took his breath away, but after a few deep inhales, he felt a little bit like himself again. Strolling through mostly quiet and dark alleys of tents, he heard only the sound of his steps on crispy snow. The night was unusually cold, sharp, and windy. He felt the smell of winter. It filled up his lungs. It was close. Probably only a few days away. And he knew what was coming with it. He knew that sooner or later, they would have to face a real enemy. He just wished he would have more time.

With that thought, he turned back to look at his tent. It was illuminated from the inside by the fire. It was warm there. His man was sleeping inside. So why he was here looking for Gods know what?

He shook his head, smiling bitterly. He was a fool. He should go back, wake Jon up and fuck him senseless again no matter how much sleep he needed. They should use whatever time they had.

He was about to march back, but it was only when he felt a soft thump into his back. Tormund turned swiftly, alerted but froze surprised seeing a known face covered only partly by a shadow of a hood.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” the girl said with a well-heard smile in her voice and took the hood off. “Don’t worry. It’s only me.”

“I know it’s you,” Tormund answered, seeing Sansa’s pale face.

If not for her rosy cheeks, she might go as one of the nightly creatures with her fragile body, pale eyes, and delicate skin, but now he knew better then to overlook her. She might look soft and gentle, but she was strong. Not strong in her body but strong in her mind. She was still a woman. One that wasn’t breed as his kind. She shouldn’t be here at this hour and alone.

“Your brother wouldn’t be happy knowing you walk around camp without protection.”

She looked at him a little annoyed and a little impatient as she said, “It’s him I’m looking for. Maybe if he were in his tent, I wouldn’t have to walk through the whole camp to yours,” she added suggestively.

He must look terrified for a short moment before he stopped any further reaction because she laughed shortly, and her eyes suddenly softened filled with some mixture of feeling he partly didn’t understand.

“Walk me back,” she commanded.

He nodded and started to stroll alongside, waiting for her to speak. He felt there was more to come, but after a few steps, she only asked:

“You think I don’t approve, why?”

Tormund sighed, explaining, “My people and your people… We have different customs. We’re free. We can love whoever we want. We can choose to bed whoever we want. You put on yourself chains and restrictions, all those stupid rules that tell you who should do what.”

“Like the one that I shouldn’t walk here alone because I’m a delicate highborn?” She proposed but without any heat behind it.

“No, because you’re a woman who suffered a lot and because I know what men think in camps like that a night before a battle,” he said, adding quickly, “And because you’re Jon’s sister, so you’re also mine.”

She stopped at that, looking at him thoughtfully. For a moment, he felt her careful gaze on his face like she looked for something there or like she had been checking whatever he said was true. And he saw the exact moment she made her mind. When she spoke again, she was calm and honest too.

“I don’t care about the rules. Those rules made me marry a man who had treated me like a breeding animal,” she started and added quickly, “So I’m happy for Jon. I’m happy it’s you on his side.”

Tormund nodded, thinking of her words as they started to walk again. The moment of silence was pure, not dense, and filled with guilt. She was comfortable with him. She felt safe, and that strangely made him happy.

He wasn’t charming her when he said she meant family to him. In times like this family was the most important thing that a man can keep, care, and have. No gold, no land was able to replace a feeling of belonging and acceptance. Nothing else was more precious to fight for and protect.

“Can I ask how you knew?” he asked suddenly. She looked at him swiftly with a question in her eyes, prompting him to explain. “How you knew Jon shares bed with me?”

“Your daughters,” she said and added quickly, “I saw how they greeted him when we reached your camp. They adore him, and I think it’s mutual.”

“He spoils them,” Tormund huffed out a disapproving sigh.

“He was the same with Arya,” She explained, “But I also saw how you look at all of them together. Like it’s your whole world just there, with those three people.”

“It is,” he said honestly and surly, stopping in front of Sansa’s tent.

“So how something like that can be bad?” she smiled at him brightly. “How can love be bad?”

Tormund smiled now fully, touching her arm lightly to squeeze it. She was surprised by that, but she didn’t move back.

“You also have the North in you like your brother,” he said softly. “And you’re lucky.”

Her smile faded quickly as she answered, “I doubt that.”

“You’re,” Tormund assured her. “You’re kissed by fire. Like me. It will bring you luck one day.”

She nodded with agreement and with a moment of hesitation she asked him suddenly serious again, “Take care of him.”

“I’ll try,” he promised without single moment of doubt and with another smile, he turned to march back to his tent.

With her words still ringing in his head, he felt lighter. He thought that this wasn’t their last fight. He felt that winter was almost here, but it didn’t come for them. It came to swallow their enemies — all of them. Jon will fulfill his promise. And he will keep his word given to Lady Sansa.


	8. Part II: Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You’re mine, Jon Snow,” Tormund whispered into his ear so quiet and soft that Jon wasn’t sure he really heard it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I am so so sooooooo late! And I feel really bad about it, but apart of normal craziness of my life, this chapter was the most difficult to write from all the things I have done like ever. 
> 
> Still, I really hope you'll like it!
> 
> (oh, and I still don't know how D&D time works so let's use my own, shell we? :D)

Jon rested his hands on the table and lingered over the map, looking skeptically on the setup. They had been mulling over their plans for the last couple of hours, and as much as they tried to come up with the best strategy, they still couldn’t multiply their people. Jon sighed, looking up and finding Tormund’s soft gaze across the table. His hair was like a fiery crown over his head, touched by the dim light of candles. His blue eyes reflected flames. And there was something encouraging in the way Tormund looked at him that made Jon feel a little bit more hopeful. They could all die tomorrow, but at least they would do it together. Wasn’t that what Tormund liked to say before a battle?

The word “together” became a permanent feature in Jon’s thoughts for the past few days. It was his prayer. It was the last string that held his sanity attached to his mind and soul. It was what he whispered to Tormund before he went to sleep, hoping it will somehow bind them stronger, beyond their lives. And maybe, just maybe, death itself wouldn’t separate them. Perhaps he will meet Tormund again. This time on the other side. The real other side, where they will be finally free.

“Alright, I think this gets as good as it can,” he said finally, pushing himself from the table and looking at others.

They seemed to be extremely tired. It almost felt like Ramsay Bolton took all their faith in their cause, all their belief that they still were able to win. Gods, they looked like they had nothing to live for. Hornwoods Lords, Mazins, even little and brave Lyanna Mormont, even the Red Woman. All of them. He could see it on their faces. He could see it in their posture. There wasn’t much hope left in them, and that bothered him the most. Hope was the only thing that kept them from being already dead.

“I think we should rest,” he finally decided, slightly defeated. “We need to have clear minds tomorrow.”

“It’s an excellent idea,” Sir Davos said, patting Jon on the shoulder. “Take your command seriously and stop thinking about it,” he added, poking at the map.

Jon smiled weakly, thanking him with a short nod.

“Tormund,” he said, wanting to stop the man before he would leave but he wasn’t able to add anything as suddenly Sansa stormed the tent.

“I need to talk to all of you,” she said with her voice shaken. “I’ve good news.”

“Tell me you have more men,” Jon smiled brightly watching as his sister shook off the snow from her cape.

She came closer to lights and put a scroll on the table, saying, “I’ve got us twenty thousand.”

“How?” Tormund asked, also coming to the table to look at her carefully. “I bet this kind of a miracle doesn’t come cheap.”

Some thought passed Sansa’s mind because her smile faded. There was hesitation in her gaze before she started to explain.

“Two days ago I sent a raven to Lord Petyr Baelish who commands Arryn forces in the name of Lord of the Vale.” She turned slowly to address one lord after another. When she glanced back at Jon again, she concluded, “I got raven back with a promise of help. They were near, knowing we’ll need aid, and so they'll reach Winterfell tomorrow, noon. We have to wait with the attack.”

“We can’t,” Jon answered quickly.

“Boltons will think we gave the battle away,” Davos hurried with an explanation. “We need to meet them at the agreed time.”

“So what, it’s all for nothing,” she started more than asked, visibly defeated.

Jon looked at his sister suddenly shrinking in her form, tired and discouraged. All her bursting energy from a moment before disappeared suddenly, slowly giving away to the distress.

“It’s not for nothing,” Jon declared, pulling the attention of the rest, as he continued, “If we manage to hold, we can surprise them,” he said, glancing at Tormund. “We will do the same move Stannis did to Mance. We will hold them until the aid comes and we will use Vale’s cavalry to cut through the remaining Bolton forces.”

“If you want to fuck them in the ass, I am all for it,” Tormund said seriously, and Jon couldn’t help but smile.

“If we hold them,” Davos noted.

“You will,” Sansa said firmly. “How can I help?”

“You already did,” Jon assured her, touching her arm gently to warm her up. “You should stay here, in the camp.”

“No,” Tormund suddenly interrupted. “She should wait at flanks and receive this Vale army. They come for her. She should command them.”

Sansa nodded with agreement, smiling gently at Tormund and Jon had to look back at his lover, trying to understand what just happened and when this alliance formed, but Tormund only shrugged, saying “Not only you can make good plans, Snow.”

Jon huffed out short laugh, surrendering, “All right, let’s do that.”

“And now we really should have some rest,” Davos concluded.

“I will give you last orders tomorrow before we ride,” Jon said to the lords that were slowly leaving the tent, saying his farewell with a pat on the shoulder or an encouraging smile.

When Sansa and Tormund where the only ones left, he stopped his sister just before she was about to disappear between flaps separating them from piercing cold.

“What is it?” Sansa asked, looking between them with obvious concern. “If it is about the Vale army…”

“It’s a little bit about that too,” Jon agreed, half seating on the table behind him.

He glanced at Tormund, who still stayed close to the tent’s entrance and couldn’t hold a soft smile when he saw how worried Tormund was right now.

“How much do you trust Littlefinger?” He asked then, turning his gaze to meet Sansa’s.

“Not at all,” she said quickly. “Only a fool would do that. And I know, I should’ve told you earlier, I should’ ve-”

Jon stopped her shaking his head. “It’s alright. Truly.”

“You want to make sure the Vale army comes tomorrow,” Tormund assumed, as always aiming for the bullseye. “Why?” he asked, unexpectedly suspicious.

“Because I need to make sure you’re safe if something happens to me,” Jon explained carefully. “And if something happens to me, I don’t want to come back,” Jon added surly, observing both of them with caution as his words were passing painfully slow in the suddenly heavy air.

“No, Jon, no.” Sansa was first to oppose, as always ready to fight him like back in days they were young. “If there is even a small chance you might be saved, I’m going to take it.”

“This is my choice,” he said, still calm. “You asked me to fight with you for our home and I will, but you can’t ask me to live through that again. I feel like it’s already less of me than before. What do you think will happen next time?”

“Aye, it’s yours,” Tormund agreed with him, but Jon saw from the look on his face that he was far from acceptance. “But have you thought about what is going to happen with your sister if you’re gone? What is going to happen with my daughters and my people if there wouldn’t be a person who gives a fuck about them?”

“That’s why I wanted to speak to you,” Jon confessed quieter now, his voice was close to begging. “I want to ask you, Sansa, to keep the word I gave to Free Folk. And I wanted to ask you, Tormund, to keep her safe as I would.”

 “No,” she said again, shaking her head. “I won’t do that. You gave your word. You have to keep it yourself,” she split each syllable hard with tears appearing in her eyes.

“It’s all for nothing girl,” Tormund said with surprisingly soft voice and with a delicate smile, watching Jon with full attention, he added, “He’s more stubborn than an old goat, and because he’s stubborn he’ll hold to this life, because it’s his last one.”

Jon huffed a short laugh, pushing himself from the table. He came closer to Sansa to take her cheek with his hand, warming it up and wiping her tears off of her cold skin.

“Take some rest,” he said gently. “Gods know we need it.”

For a moment he saw that she wanted to argue him again. He saw that well know fierce of her mother, playing in her eyes now, ready to protect those she loved and avenge those that wronged her. Perhaps not with the strength of her body but of her mind. He saw that now. At that moment, Jon saw that she was the real daughter of her parents, of her unbreakable mother and her wise and good father. Maybe more than Robb ever was. Maybe more then all of their other children.

But then he saw the moment she gave up. She understood, or she thought that she didn’t have any more power to fight him. She sighed deeply, nodding shortly in lieu of goodbye. She wasn’t in agreement with him when she left, but at least he felt calmer that she knew his wishes, and now she would have to honor them.

“She is a fine woman,” Tormund concluded like he could read Jon’s thoughts, before he turned his so blue and calm gaze at Jon. “And she is right. Do you know that? You shouldn’t ask us that. Not us.”

“Aye, I know,” Jon agreed. “But you’re the only ones I trust, so will you try to convince me again with your other tricks now that we’re alone? Or can we spend this time in more useful ways?”

Tormund laughed out loud this time as he answered, “No, I won’t, I prefer to do that,” he added and moving fast he grabbed Jon by his furs to lock his lips in a hard, almost painful kiss.

It lasted shorter then Jon would hope, quicker than any other kiss they shared, but Jon knew it was a promise. It was something for him to wait and long for. Something that could give him hope for tomorrow and another day after that. And all those still to come. Something that would keep him alive.

“You’re mine, Jon Snow,” Tormund whispered into his ear so quiet and soft that Jon wasn’t sure he really heard it, but then the man repeated it, “You’re mine and if I’m yours, you’re going to tell me this tomorrow, in Winterfell,” he added and pressing another kiss on Jon’s temple, he left him alone.


	9. Part II: Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Suddenly the familiarity hit him. It was all the same. Lines of Tormund muscles under the furs. His taste. The grip of his fingers when they tangled in Jon’s hair to bring him closer and bit into him harder._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry if I am cruel and prolong this glorious moment xd
> 
> Again, thank you _SO_ much for all your kudos and comments. I've never thought that even one person would like to read this but here we are! THANK YOU!

There was another sharp noise somewhere near, and Jon flinched, opening his eyes and waking from his thoughts. A vast emptiness consumed mostly by darkness spread in front of him. It had been lit by dying down fires that by now probably ate bodies of those who lost their lives this morning, but it was still not enough to chase the falling night.

He turned to face the yard and looked down in search of the source of the noise, but Winterfell was calm again, the clearing emptied more and more by every passing moment as people disperse to find so deserved rest.

He was also tired. Gods, he was exhausted to the point in which he didn’t feel anything except this strange dullness. And yet he couldn’t force himself to go down to his chamber even if Maester Wolkan assigned him one hours ago.

How long had passed since they stormed Winterfell? Hours. How many? Ten, fifteen? Maybe more. For him, it still felt like ages. For him, it felt like he died again, but this time he woke up in all Seven Hells. And yet here he was. In Winterfell. He stood on the same battlements that he once shared with his father, looking at a similar view. He felt the scent of frost and burning wood and oil. It was as real as the beat of his heart. It was also as real as Rickon’s cold body buried next to their father’s bones.

And it was snowing again. Lights of torches on the yard were dimmed by it, steps muffled. It gently sealed them from the rest of the world and made everything so incredibly tranquil he couldn’t believe that this kind of quietness existed anymore. It was hard to see that it was still the same place from those few hours ago when he nearly killed Ramsay. There was no trace of Boltons now. And yet, he thought he wouldn’t be able to experience peace anymore. How could he? Every time he closed his eyes, he still saw it. He still fought. He saw thousands of people bathe in their blood and their remains. He heard their screams. He could even recall the howl of dying horses. He smelled blood on himself. And he liked it. He liked it then, and he still did now. That was the worst. He could feel the bitterly-sweet stench of it. It was suffocating and sickening. It was an odor of the death itself, sticking to his skin like a living matter, and yet, he still felt the urge to kill. It was dimmed by tiredness, mixed with relief but he still had it in him. And it was frightening.

He tried to inhale the fresh air, but his breath only came as a shuttered imitation of one. It stopped at his chipped lips, made his lungs feel even heavier. It was then when he felt a touch. He stirred and opened his eyes that he didn’t realize he closed again. He looked swiftly at the source of warmth, and there was Tormund, a solid and strong body next to him.

“You should rest, Little Crow,” he said, squeezing Jon’s arm as a silent sign his words were an order to obey. “You did enough for today.”

Jon slowly looked upon the yard again, seeing faces of people that he didn’t know, and he didn’t trust, a place that was his home once but now felt empty and unfamiliar not because it changed but because all those he loved were gone now.

“Did I?” he asked very quietly. “Wouldn’t then Rickon be still alive?”

“He was dead before you got that letter,” Tormund acknowledged, and Jon looked at him swiftly, his gaze suddenly hard.

He started to walk along battlements, feeling a burning need to move as Tormund’s words hit him with the truth. The man went after him, two steps behind on the narrow passage leading them down on the yard.

“You didn’t think this cunt would spare his life, did you,” he asked when he leveled with Jon again on the solid ground.

Jon glanced at him, answering quietly, “No, I didn’t,” as he nodded to a group of servants, passing them under the gallery.

They hesitated with their greetings, looking between him and Tormund with a great deal of resentment, but even if the man saw their distaste, he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he followed Jon into one of the corridors, suddenly stopping him when its darkness was enough to shield them from unwanted attention.

“It’s not your fault,” Tormund said gently and so differently from his grip on Jon’s arm. He leaned in closer and muttered, “None of it is.”

“I still think that if I did something differ-” Jon started, but Tormund only leaned in closer and kissed him.

It was so unexpected he moved back and hit the wall. Now he was trapped between the cold stone and Tormund’s warm and massive body. The man’s hot lips forced his, overcoming last trances of his resistance.

Suddenly the familiarity hit him. It was all the same. Lines of Tormund muscles under the furs. His taste. The grip of his fingers when they tangled in Jon’s hair to bring him closer and bit into him harder. He thought that if he ever lived through all that, it would be different. He would be different. That somehow, something will change. But here he was, kissed with the same hunger, touched with the same gentleness, still full of want.

“I thought I wouldn’t to this again,” Tormund began in between one kiss and the other, leaving his lips to mouth at Jon’s cheek, his chin and then hide his face in the crook of Jon’s neck. “I thought I lost you,” he admitted, coming back Jon’s lips, licking inside him with a content murmur.

And Jon couldn’t help but smile into this kiss. It was still weak, and he yet didn’t know if he should, but it was in him. At the bottom of his subconscious the relieve started to overcome everything else. Even the loss. Even the bloodthirst. They were both alive and breathing. And only this mattered.

He felt Tormund’s hand looked for more contact with his body, but he stopped them, moving away to look in the man’s eyes and say quietly, “I know a place.”

“A place,” Tormund mounted the world carefully. “What place?”

“Come one,” Jon huffed out hot air into Tormund’s lips but moved again when the man tried to kiss him. He started to walk along the corridor, adding, “I hope it’s still there.”

Tormund snorted, clearly not happy that Jon interrupted his plans, but he followed him anyway. They were in the Great Keep now, so he had only to turn left to find an entry to the lower sections. And it was there, a wooden door that creaked in the same way as they used to before he left Winterfell. This corridor wasn’t dark. It was lit by several torches leading them down on a spiral staircase, taken care of and perfectly in use.

“Do you want to take us to the core of the earth, Little Crow?” Tormund asked, sounding unsure.

“Are you scared?” Jon noticed with a smile hidden behind his words and turned for a moment to look at the man. “You’ll like it,” he promised and opened next wooden doors.

“With you, I will like even hell,” Tormund admitted and stopped suddenly, joining Jon in a vast hall filled with lanterns and candles.


End file.
